Halo 3: Dark Rising Machinima Short Stories
by Kerian Halcyon
Summary: A collection of oneshots that involve my Machinima idea, Dark Rising. Takes place about 10 years after the closing events of Halo 3. Learn first about the events that take place just before the actual story...
1. Introduction

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**Halo 3 Dark Rising**

_The Short Stories_

Introduction

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Dear fans of Halo 3,

For those of you who know, I, Kerian Halcyon, had intended on creating a machinima series for Halo 3 involving a time period that takes place ten years after the events of the final game. However, due to financial issues, I am unable to make this dream a reality. However, I have another vision for it; creating a series of short-stories that will, hopefully, evolve a fanbase that will eventually enjoy the machinima when and if it does come out. My last short story, however, I had designed with the script in mind, and as such without the first five episodes of the script it has many, many plot holes, enough so that it can confuse even the simplest of readers. I made the mistake of posting it on . Although it is a really good piece of work, describing battles and battle scenes the same way that Eric Nylund probably would (he's my favorite Halo author, the writer for Halo: The Fall of Reach), it leaves a lot to be desired, and can only make sense if you've read the actual script…so far, only I and a friend have done so, and as such the story's plot holes make it a bad post…

That changes as of today. If you are reading this, then Dark Rising's newest series of short stories have been released. These oneshots will promote my scriptwork, and, hopefully, help spur me into actually producing this epic series. Dark Rising's short stories are meant to promote certain characters, explain certain details that are left vacant in the script's storyline but are mentioned in the plot, and to also show what goes on for individuals who are either devoid in the story or are only seen once. These first three stories (not including this introduction post) will be prologues that explain events either before the first episode, or during actual events of the first episode that are either devoid from the script or are not really appreciated due to how fast the events go. I hope you enjoy these awesome oneshots!

Disclaimer: The following story is based off of a Halo 3 Machinima that has yet to be in production. Save for that fact alone, this machinima is not affiliated with Bungie Studios, the creators and owners of the Halo franchise. This is a fanfic/machinima promotion, and is not meant for profit or for any specific reason other than said information. I do not own the Halo franchise; I only play the games. Enough said…

-Kerian

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**Kerian**: Well, that seemed to go well. I can't wait to see how this turns out.

Darin: I can't wait to see what happens here.

**Kerian**: What the he-What are you doing here?! This isn't even your story...crap, this isn't even your genera! Get back in the Legend of Zelda where you belong, you stupid fairy!

Darin: What? I'm the poster boy for Legacy of the Sages. Why can't I stay here? I'm promoting your other works.

**Kerian**: I already have a poster boy for this story.

Darin: Really? Who?

_Survivor_: You asked for an M6-S, sir?

**Kerian**: Do with it what you will, Tyson.

Darin: Ooooooohhhh boy... *gulp*

_Survivor_: *takes aim* I wonder, will a fairy's guts come apart if I shoot it, or will his body be carried by the bullet before it gets punctured into the wall?

Darin: You wouldn't dare!

_Survivor_: No, I won't. You're supposed to be kept alive. However, Kerian never said that you can't be uninjured...

Darin: RUN AWAY!!! *flies offscreen*

_Survivor_: *salutes* Mission accomplished, General Kerian.

**Kerian**: Please...just Kerian. Anyway...this begins the long line (or short line) of Short Stories for Dark Rising. Until next time, me out!

_Survivor_: Since I technically am a part of Bungie's creation, seeing as I am based off of a Halo soldier, as a self-proclaimed representative and spokesperson, I think I should sue.

**Kerian**: Why'd I let you in here again?

-Kerian


	2. Prologue 1

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**Halo 3: Dark Rising**

_The Short Stories_

Prologue, Story 1: A Good Plan at the Time…

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_UNSC Command Database online. Warning: You are accessing restricted file space! Please insert correct file key or correct security measures will be enacted._

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_Inserting File Command Key MC-117_

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_Command key accepted. Accessing requested file. Wait one moment please…_

_United Nations Space Command military log, section 25, subsection 53, date classified._

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Dear Reader, I am writing this short military log as per Military Survivor Protocol regulations. Though I am under strict orders from the highest officials, even higher than myself, you can at least tell by the early section that this is one of the earliest MS Protocol submissions you'll ever find in any classified (or formerly classified) UNSC database.

My name is Fleet Admiral Charles Harper. I am proud to say that I am an officer, veteran, and, thank God, a survivor of the first Covenant War. I have participated in both the First and Second Battle of Earth, and I helped ensure orbital defense measures during the Flood Crisis that eventually led to the Flood controlled station of High Charity arriving on The Ark; I am not allowed to give away any further details as they are classified under the highest order.

It has been six months since the Covenant War _officially_ came to end; I say officially because even though the Prophet of Truth and the rest of the Covenant were wiped out on The Ark, otherwise known as Installation 00, there were still Loyalists to the Covenant cause still existing in UNSC controlled space. The time between the arrival of Separatist forces and the eventual crash landing of what remained of the Forward Unto Dawn was spent mopping up the rest of these Covenant Loyalists, too fanatic to realize that their crusade had come to an end, out of UNSC territory.

Problems for the UNSC didn't stop at the end of the war. We have met many a discouraging problem after the war's official end and the peace treaty between Humans and Elites was passed. It wasn't problems with Covenant Loyalists that was the main problem; instead, rebel forces along former outer colonies had made their presence known once more, completely ignored or undetected by Covenant forces during the Human-Covenant War. How they managed to survive still remains a mystery, though the point was that they were back, and they were out for the complete separation of the now almost defenseless colonies from the UNSC.

Our forces were too small, and too spread thinly to deal with the severe wave of rebellion to follow. UNSC forces were forced to watch at times as rebel fleets took colonies by mere show of force, almost completely unchallenged and unchecked. It wasn't long before most of the outer colonies not being restored by terraforming technology were under their complete control, boxing the UNSC in like rats in a maze. If we did not find a means to stop them, the UNSC would be forced to accept and recognize their nations and stand by to obey whatever requests the rebels ask, or demand, of us.

During this point in time, a meeting in a top secret location will take place involving myself, my fellow Fleet Admiral Terrance Hood, as well as several highly respected and highly influential UNSC commanding officers; mainly the Military High Council. The board of directors has requested us to conduct this meeting as secretly as possible; we do not want rebel spies or even lower ranking officers to catch word of this meeting, lest the rebels manage to find out and take action against it. Yes, even this MS Protocol entry will be kept a secret for an approximate three to five year time period to ensure that rebels and other forces will not manage to act in time to stop this from happening.

I have a combination of feelings that are for and against this meeting, but I can assure you, reader, that if you are reading this then the meeting was a successful one, and that all goes well for the UNSC. I tell you this because I would never let this log get past the admission counter in the UNSC Database if the case were otherwise…we need less discouraging news and historic reference as it is.

-Fleet Admiral Harper, 1st class

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_End of Military Log. File Command Key access to file disabled. Thank you for using the UNSC Database. Please tune in at approximately 2400 hours UNSC Standard Time to access the database again. Logging out…_

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Fleet Admiral Charles Harper sat quietly in a seat aboard the legendary Prowler known as the _Point of No Return_. Harper considered the ship legendary not because of its stealth capabilities, unrivalled throughout the UNSC Fleet especially for a ship its size. Nor did he consider the ship legendary for its Faraday Cage, a room that would ensure upmost secrecy that only 20 officers of the entire UNSC could have access to. No, Harper considered it legendary because it was the most top secret ship in the galaxy; so secret, that even to classified UNSC Databases it didn't even exist.

Harper rubbed at the sore wound in his upper right shoulder, glad to be distracted from the almost maddening silence in the chamber. He had gotten a piece of shrapnel stuck there when his ship went out of commission and tore itself in half during the Second Battle of Earth, an even that he never wanted to replay in his mind or anywhere else again. He and only a quarter of his crew barely managed to make it to an undamaged escape pod and escape their floating wreck before its lower half exploded in space, followed close behind by the forward half that managed to drift far enough away from the engines that it didn't explode until the escape pod was within safe distance from the superheated junk in space. It was the jolt afterwards that caused Harper's piece of shrapnel to dig deeper into his shoulder after hitting the side hard, which caused surgeons to leave a small chunk of the thing still buried in his bone out of fear that they might have to completely severe his arm in order to get to the damn thing. Harper was glad that the pain wasn't as bad as when he first got hit, though the shrapnel helped him earn leave from the rest of the battle soon after.

Harper glanced to the people sitting on the seats on either side of him. To his immediate right was none other than Admiral Terrance Hood (also called Lord Hood by those under him in the ranks). Lord Hood had seen much more action than Harper could have ever dreamed, or had nightmares, of. Lord Hood was, in fact, the Commander-in-Chief of the entire UNSC's military forces, making him possibly the most important man in the galaxy. He was a man with great commanding prowess and had the respect of the entire UNSC under his belt. He was the man who gave the final eulogy for those who had died in the Second Battle of Earth, just before the Elites left for their homeworld of Sanghelios not too long ago. Hood was a great man; Harper believed that there were no greater words than those to say about the man.

To Lord Hood's right, however, was one individual that even Harper didn't recognize. The woman was old; old enough that she should have been retired from the ranks years ago. She made even Terrence Hood's wrinkles look like baby cheeks next to her gaunt features. She was, however, as physically fit as a UNSC Officer who had just gotten drafted at age 23. The only thing that Harper could recognize on the old woman was the insignia of a Vice Admiral, a rank high enough that she could probably be able to command most of the UNSC's forces on her own unless otherwise ordered by himself or by Lord Hood.

Overall, the woman looked dangerous, and seemingly familiar…

For the time being, it was just the three of them in that Faraday cage. Lord Hood was busy thumbing through the pages of a top secret military document, while the woman, surprisingly, smoked a light cigarette. Harper almost scoffed at the action. He didn't smoke, save for the occasional cigar that he would have whenever days were good. He disproved of smoking mainly because it shortened the lifespan of many good soldiers and officers in the UNSC, and if it weren't for morale he would probably ban the use of tobacco had things been up to him. However, he found the stuff to be a "necessary" evil; he pretty much ignored individual soldiers as they smoked their own cigarettes. However, he couldn't stand the smell of cigarettes at all, since they reminded him of burnt plastic or overheated engine cores after a long drive through space.

It wasn't long before the doors to the Faraday Cage opened up. Three individuals entered the room; one carrying some paperwork with the other two holding individual documents. One man held the insignia of a Major General, and Harper recognized him as Major General Nicolas Strauss, formerly of Sidney Australia. The man had taken up duties in dealing with colonial militia on the worlds just between UNSC "Core" worlds and the Outer Rim, or the Rebellion, colonies.

He looked at the three officers, sighed, and motioned the other two men to have a seat. The one with the paperwork, a soldier that was duty-bound to this ship, no doubt, began passing the paperwork copies to each of the officers in the room before closing the door to the Faraday Cage and sitting down on the seat to Harper's left. The other sat closest to the door, towards the right, trying to distance himself from the obvious glare of the Vice Admiral to his left. He wore expensive clothing, robes and a cape of all things, as well as what looked like a replica of an ancient Greek breastplate on his heavy shirt-front. He stayed silent as the Major General cleared his throat, ready to explain the reason why the three officers were here.

"Gentlemen and lady," the Major General said, "It is good to have you all here at this time. As you know, I am Major General Nicolas Strauss, and I am in charge of preparing colonial militia in the case of a rebel attack outside of the outer rim. I have an important proposition to make to the three of you; one that would greatly help in dealing with the post-war economics and reconstruction."

"This had better be very important," the lady said, crushing her cigarette butt into an ashtray on the polished table in front of her, "You do realize that every minute that is wasted in this cage, the rebels have an extra minute to prepare themselves to their advantage and overtake us? Why the Covenant left those bastards alone, I'll never understand myself."

Harper was trained not to wince, though he could feel that he was mentally wincing enough at the lady's surprisingly sour language. This woman was more dangerous than he thought.

"I understand the need for haste, Vice Admiral Parangosky," Strauss said, "Believe me, I have no intention of letting this meeting drag slowly and give those rebels enough time to overtake what few colonies we have left. I promise I'll be as fast as I can allow."

Of course; that's why Harper recognized the woman. Vice Admiral Margaret Parangosky was probably one of the most secretive, as well as the most dangerous, commanding officer in the entire UNSC. She was responsible for helping create the Cole Protocol, as well as helping form the secret military project known formerly as the SPARTAN-III Program. Her actions with the latter, however, came close to the end of her career, as the result of hundreds of children barely past the ages of 13 were sent to their dooms, resulting in the end of the SPARTAN-III Program shortly after its trainers and the last Spartan-IIIs disappeared from the Forerunner world of Onyx.

The reason why she hadn't retired yet was beyond Harper's understanding.

"To return to the discussion at hand," the Major General continued, "It has come to my attention, as well as everyone else in the UNSC, that the casualties of the Human-Covenant war have affected us more than is seemed. Due to the death toll of the entire war, our forces have been spread too thinly to be able to take care of our surviving colonies. Now, the rebels have taken advantage of it all, and have made it their absolute mission to destroy all that the UNSC holds dear, starting off by taking what colonies the UNSC are unable to defend."

The Major General hit the table for emphasis.

"No longer can we allow this. The time has come for us to realize that the UNSC alone cannot stop these forces alone, and that we need to seek help elsewhere, those willing to be paid to get the job done right."

"You aren't talking about asking for outside help, such as the Sangheili, do you?"

This last question came from Lord Hood. Though everyone else called their alien allies "Elites," Lord Hood preferred to call them by their traditional name, namely Sangheili, due to his high respect for what they have done for the UNSC during the last stretch of the war. Harper admitted that the aliens were a force to be reckoned with and should very well be respected as allies, but he preferred calling them Elites. Not out of disrespect; it's just easier.

"I was thinking of something of closer access," General Strauss said, "A force that doesn't require war bonding and alliances, but pocketbooks instead."

Raising a hand, he motioned for the man at the corner to stand up. He made a show of brushing non-existent dust from his breastplate and unwrinkled his cape before standing in front of the table, putting a finger over his own document copy as he looked at the three high commanding officers in front of him.

"This is Mr. Alexander 'Raven,' Smith," General Strauss said, "He is the C.E.O. of RavenTech Corp. He is an expert in dealing with stock, mechanics, as well as the hiring and supervising of mercenaries and mercenary trainers. In a sense, he is a powerful bounty hunter overlord, and one of the finest in the trade."

"That being the case," Lord Hood said, "he should also be under the same general military crimes as a crime boss, and as low as any rebel could ever hope to be in the galaxy."

"The main difference, your honor, is that I came to help, not to haggle," Raven said, holding up his copy of the document in his hand, "You see, I know where my overall loyalties lie. I am no stranger to allegiance, as well as no stranger to the thinness of the military's forces. I would like to ask that the three of you please pick up your copies of this document and look them over, as they will point out details of any contract that might be made with RavenTech Corp while I go over this proposal."

Vice Admiral Parangosky and Lord Hood picked up and began skimming through their documents with obvious reluctance. Harper picked up his own document copy and read it over, and his eyebrows noticeably went up as he viewed the document. The document indicated that a contract with RavenTech would start a project that involved the rights to many highly volatile chemicals, minerals, and plant extracts that could very likely kill a person if used incorrectly; though at the same time it could also create an entire army of deadly individuals with super-human strength, indestructible bone matter, and powerful mental capacities…

…qualities with matches found only under one name; SPARTAN-IIs.

"Everyone knows how the SPARTAN-IIs got their success," Raven said, obviously beginning a rather long and prepared speech, "The SPARTAN-II Program was originally designed to face the oncoming threat of rebellion during the years just before the war. The fact that SPARTAN-IIs were later used to help defeat the oncoming Covenant threat was another testing ground to prove how efficient Spartans really were, though after the Covenant War we assumed that the rebel bases had already been discovered and glassed by this time, am I right?"

Lord Hood, Parangosky, and Harper all nodded.

"Now that rebels have become a threat again," Raven continued, "even more so than when they were in the beginning, then it is high time that we pulled back our troops and began sending in 'heavy artillery.' RavenTech plans to create a project known as the Achilles Project, a project that should take little more than a year to accomplish. On the UNSC's payroll, RavenTech will hire veterans, mercenaries, or even individuals who had never seen the Covenant War and will do anything to join the cause as a fighter for the UNSC. We will be looking for individuals with the correct blood type, give them extensive training that will take several months to complete, and then augment them with the drugs used to create SPARTAN-IIs."

"Hold on," Harper said, raising his hands to stop the speech, "You are asking us to fund you so that you can make SPARTAN-IIs out of the general populace, endangering their lives and doing so even further by selecting adults instead of the usual children selections?"

"I've seen this brash behavior before when Colonel Ackerson proposed the SPARTAN-III Project," Vice Admiral Parangosky said, "We all know how bad that one turned out. This one is guaranteed to fail."

Harper almost winced at the old woman's words. When Parangosky said something like that, it wasn't a prediction like those made by 19th century fortune tellers; it was a promise. Harper could tell right away that Parangosky would do her best to make sure whatever proposal Raven came up with would be denied.

Of course, Harper didn't think it was such a bad idea himself. Spartans had become a legend once the UNSC government, specifically people such as himself, had voted to reveal the super-soldiers to help boost morale with the troops. However, after the Human-Covenant War, most of the Spartan-IIs went into hiding or were taken under ONI's care, some never to be seen again. After the disappearance of Masterchief, most of the UNSC agreed that there could be no place in the galaxy for a "replacement" hero.

"I understand that Colonel Ackerson made mistakes," Raven continued, "but you must also understand that I am not like Ackerson. My reasons are not for revenge by someone, namely a competitor, who came up with an idea for one of the greatest successes in all of the UNSC. I am instead offering to ensure the UNSC's future by providing all of the resources that RavenTech can allow, namely this project. I think you will come to find that my ideas will at least provide a distraction for the rebels while I give the UNSC valuable time…"

"What kind of time?" Lord Hood asked; his hand was raised to his chin in thought.

"What else?" Raven asked, "Time to replenish your forces. You see, with the Spartans made in this Achilles Project, these…Freelancers if you will…I will ensure that the UNSC will have enough time to replenish its ranks with worthy soldiers of the next generation as well as rebel prisoners that I will graciously provide to you. All I ask is that you sign the contract to allow RavenTech to do this project in order for this to work…"

Harper could see the logic in Raven's words. It was true that the main reason why the UNSC's forces were spread too thinly was because of a severe lack of manpower, and the fact that the Rebels were wiping out military facilities and assimilating colonies without proper military support didn't make things easier on them for recruiting UNSC Marines.

"Still," Parangosky said, thumbing through the end of her document and placing it on the table, "this seems to be too good to be true. What is in it for you if this is successful, providing that it is even remotely?"

"I had a feeling we would get to that point," Raven said, arriving to a specific page in his copy of the document, "Aside from the main contract qualifications, I have three main requests. The first request is that after generation 1 of the 'Freelancers' I will be creating, if they are successful, I would like to ask that I have continued resources to make more Spartans, such as providing worthy volunteers as well as the costs for training, medical, and augmentation. The second request is that I want to ensure that these Freelancers have proper rights in the colonies they visit and/or save from rebel forces; these rights include free room and board, certain discounts, etc. The third and final request is that I want to make sure that my gentlemen do their job right, which means I want them going without UNSC backup support."

"No support?" Lord Hood questioned.

"No support," Raven continued, "as in no UNSC military forces, no backup, no troops on the surface, not even a starship to help them in a battle. RavenTech will provide them with all the necessities required of them in that field, but in order for this to work your soldiers need to be in other places where they can be of use, such as in a different colony or recruiting from the ones you already have. Now, do we have a deal?"

"Hold on," Harper said, his interest piqued up, "I would like to learn a little more about your plans for your first generation of these so-called 'Freelancers.' How many people exactly are we talking about for training, and how many men and women for this generation are expected to come out in the end; five to seven?"

"Actually," Raven said, "RavenTech is shooting for more on the lines of about 50 individuals for the generation to be successful, each codenamed after the first 50 United States."

"50?!?" Lord Hood asked in surprise, standing up and looking across the table at where Raven was standing, "How the Hell do you expect us to provide you with hundreds of men and women to provide enough suitable Spartans to reach at least 50 individuals?!? That's enough alone to put any dent on our recruitment plan for increasing our forces. How could you even remotely come forward and expect us to be willing enough to go through with this?! And here I was thinking that this could be potentially a very suitable plan."

"We don't ask for hundreds of individuals," Raven said, "We ask for a mere 150 for our starter generation. I personally expected something like this to happen, so I have come up with some terms of agreement. If you take this contract-by doing so RavenTech starts the Achilles Project right away-you can select a simple option. Should the death toll be more than a hundred individuals in this 150 starter generation group, you can choose to either send in another 150 for a second try to see if we can get better results, or you could scrap the project and use whatever Spartans are left to your own needs. I will take full responsibility for the deaths of those people involved, going so far as to receive life imprisonment or worse; whatever you decide."

Even Harper had to admit that he couldn't find anything to say. Lord Hood had certainly lost his mad attitude about the entire project, and had sat down with a hand to his brow. Parangosky sat thinking, puffing on a second cigarette before extinguishing it prematurely in the ashtray in front of her.

Harper decided to speak up first. "Mr. Smith," Harper said, "you do realize that by your statement above that you have willingly placed your life upon a tray for us, and that you may also be endangering the lives of possibly more than 150 people by your proposed project?"

"Yes I do, sir," Raven said, "I have examined the consequences of my choice actions, and I am willing to pay for them should that time ever occur."

Harper had to admire Raven's attitude about it all. For a bounty hunter collector, he was quite a risk-taker.

Harper, Parangosky, and Lord Hood huddled together along with Major General Strauss to talk about what they had just heard. Raven politely turned his back and faced the door, quietly contemplating his fate as well as the fate of his company and his project.

It wasn't long before the four of them reached a decision. Raven turned around, staring at the three of them with no readable expression on his face.

"Mr. Smith," Lord Hood said, "we have decided to contemplate further on this matter. Some of what you are asking is something of great debate. We will discuss plans with you in 4800 standard hours from now. You are dismissed."

Raven smiled. The military was so predictable. Anything involving a debate almost always landed in going with the variable that would help solve a crisis instead of having nothing at all, even if the variable has a very discouraging backlash.

Without another word, Raven picked up his papers, leaving the other copies to be examined. With the soldier, who was silent and motionless throughout the meeting, escorted Raven out. Raven couldn't help but chuckle as he pulled back his cape away as the Faraday Cage door closed behind him.

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_December 17__th__, 2553, 0800_

_Secret Planetary Location, Epsilon Eredani system_

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Mark Waters wasn't a patient man. As a military Special Forces trainer during the Covenant War, he specialized in training ODSTs and other individuals until their bones cracked and they were pleading for mercy. His number one rule was that if you were given a job that would be done in an hour, do it in 15 minutes or less. He specialized in speed training, going as far as to train individuals on the field near Covenant taken planets, barely managing to escape from Covenant attack. He was the very image of a trainer from Hell, so much so that he couldn't find work that suited him once the war was over.

That is, until Raven showed up.

Mark signed up immediately when Raven offered the job of an excellent mercenary trainer; one who could get the job done quickly and in a timely fashion. Raven had interviewed Mark personally for the job. Mark had guaranteed that, according to the resume, Raven would never find a trainer even close to qualifying for this job. Raven took the bait, and now Mark was able to have a fresh crop of men and women willing to be pounded to death by his training exercises.

Mark watched as the first seven individuals came into the room. He kept track of each one as he did; checking his list to make sure that everyone was present. They filled in and made two rows in front of the trainer, standing to attention as Mark walked over and inspected them.

"Alright, you sorry lot," Mark growled, "You all have been gathered here today for one reason; you are to be the first in a long line of mercenaries working full-time as members of the military. According to each of your backgrounds, you are the best in your fields. Each one of you can be easily qualified as a respected soldier in the UNSC, but that's not why you are here. You are here because you have the potential of being so much more, and it's my job to get your sorry asses in gear and turn you into a unique fighting force. There isn't much I'm allowed to tell you save for the data you were already given during the debriefing, as the rest is all classified. Now, to make sure that you goody-twoshoes know who you are up against, my name is Mark Waters. You probably don't recognize the name; that's because until the war was over it didn't exist. I was in charge of training ODSTs, who at the time were the best of the best in their field. Only Spartans could be better, but even then that wasn't much. I am here to train you, to get you all physically in shape and to make you the best fighting force that RavenTech has to offer! Now, let's get started on role call. You each were assigned a codename earlier, and that's the name I'm going to call you by from now on. Your old name no longer existed the minute you walked in. Step forward and salute when I state your codename. Get it right the first time, or I'll break a few fingers for a reminder."

The recruits remained silent, unmoving during the whole speech. Mark was glad. He didn't want any rookies in his outfit. They always were made up of the two kinds of people that Mark hated; the whiners, and the weaklings. He made it a habit to weed out the weak from the strong during his training, sometimes going so far as to "accidentally" leave some ODST trainees behind during a pickup when escaping a Covenant Glassing. Of course, that went on his record as a trainer for missing personnel, but he didn't care. He'd been through worse.

"Minnesota," Mark barked as he fingered through the list.

A gruff man, barely past his teens, walked forward and saluted. He was blonde, had a spiked hairdo and an earring on his left ear. Everything about him screamed "punk," to Mark. That was a good thing. He liked punks; they were guaranteed to last longer than most others.

"Arizona," Mark barked.

A brown-haired man walked forward. He was rather skinny, though his eyes that gazed up at him past his salute seemed to whisper, "you call me weak, I call you dead." Mark took note of this one. Many a time had someone who gave him that kind of glare eventually evolved into a troublemaker.

"Maine," Mark barked.

An older man, African American by the looks, walked forward and saluted. His black hair was cut so that he was almost bald, and his muscles bulged past the jumpsuit that he had been given earlier. Mark admired African Americans; a history of racism way back during the early days of America had toughened them up. He admired that; it meant that they'd last longer in a crossfire.

"Nevada," Mark barked.

A girl with short, black hair walked up.

"Texas."

A blonde man walked forward.

"North Dakota."

A red-haired boy with freckles, who's face whispered, "cowboy," walked forward.

"South Carolina."

The last one, a girl with long, blonde hair, walked forward and saluted. Mark took note that she looked a bit weaker than the rest, though her attitude and her crisp and fluid body movements suggested otherwise. Mark wasn't going to let that keep him from training her hardest. He wasn't going to tolerate weaklings.

"That's the seven of you for now," Mark said, putting the clipboard list down on a desk beside him, "The rest of your teammates will be picked out in time. There will be a total of 150 in all when we're done, though don't expect to see much of the rest. You all are being assigned to different trainers to ensure that this can get done speedily. For the time being, I'm stuck with you. Now, any questions?"

The group was silent. They seemed to get the message in his tone of voice; no questions are worth asking.

"Very good," Mark growled, "Now, fall in! We're going to do some target practice today!"

"Sir, yes sir!" the group of them said.

Mark smiled. He felt better about his new career already.

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**Kerian**: Another day, another short story. I was working on this one for a while, and I thought it would last much longer. However, overall I decided that I should shorten it and change the title, so that it would at least fit under the description of a short story. So, I guess that's it for now...*sighs in satisfaction* It's so quiet...it feels good knowing that-

Darin: SORRY I'M LATE! What'd I miss?

Kerian: ...*sobs* me, out...*sobs*

Darin: Aww, come on! Quit being a baby! I'm back now...don't you miss me?

_Survivor_: You kind of ruined the moment, buddy...

Darin: What moment? I am the moment! Hey, isn't that your gun in his hands?

_Survivor_: Freeze, soldier! *slaps him in back of head* ...uh-oh...

Darin: What? What's wrong?

_Survivor_: ...get me a medic or something. And someone turn on the signature! Hey, is there a doctor at the keyboard?

-Kerian...who got knocked out by a powerful super-soldier...ouch...


	3. Prologue 2

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**Halo 3: Dark Rising**

_The Short Stories_

Prologue, Short Story 2: Consequences

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_UNSC Command Database online. Warning: You are accessing restricted file space! Please insert correct file key or correct security measures will be enacted._

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_Inserting File Command Key RT-669_

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_Command key accepted. Accessing requested file. Wait one moment please…_

_United Nations Space Command military log, section 25, subsection 58, date classified._

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Dear reader. The military log continues as I write this. No doubt this will remain classified information for a while, but in the meantime it's important that I log this in. Things haven't gotten easy for me ever since Lord Hood picked me to become, "Historian." I'm guessing this is payback for him saving my ass back when we were younger. It doesn't matter. Regardless, that's not why I am writing this…

Ten years ago, I and a team of high-ranking officers in the UNSC Military officers gathered together for a proposal that was going to save our military. It seemed like a good plan at the time. Hell, many things probably did in the past too, such as the mass genocide of Jews during the Holocaust, or giving President Obama the Nobel Prize for something he didn't really do. It doesn't matter. The point being, we accepted a proposal that put some of our most potential weapons under the hands of a third-party organization called RavenTech. The goal in mind was to produce at least 50 or more hardy mercenaries out of a group of about, say 150. These were no ordinary mercenaries, but rather a re-enactment of the Spartan-II program. Hell, if Dr. Halsey ever figured this out, she'd probably be reeling in whatever grave she dug up for herself. Ever since she disappeared, we have had no clue how to recover her or the team on Onyx.

The CEO of RavenTech, Alexander Smith, also aliased as "Raven," had promised us easy results in little under a year. We got those results, and it was astounding. It was the largest ratio of survival for any Spartan-II group ever made. Back when it first started, we were lucky if we managed to get maybe two or three out of every ten Spartan recruits, and those were mere children. The fact that they got 50 hearty adults to survive and be worthy for training out of 150 volunteers was a big number. Each was given a codename corresponding to the original 50 United States, as was agreed by the contract. We immediately sent the 50 out, having them split up into squads of 2 or 3 per star system.

The rebels were mowed down like grass under a 50 Megaton payload. It was that fast. The mercenaries, called the Freelancers, were a very efficient replacement police force. While our armies recuperated from the long wars, and new recruits kept piling in from the population, the Achilles Project went under full swing to protect our outer colonies, going so far as to force the rebels back under our own population. As was requested, we sent at least 50 able bodied candidates to Raven each year, though we made sure not to give him too many. He was still a part of a 3rd party organization, and the Military wasn't under his beck and call the way he assumed…

Boy…none of us could have guessed what happened next.

After the first few years went by, the colonists had praised the presence of the Freelancers. However, once the rebellion started dying down, the Freelancers began to get a bit…antsy. Turns out that being bred for combat has its disadvantages as much as its own advantages. The Freelancers began getting tough, requesting extra "payment" from the colonists. Several disappearances and murders in certain areas near the colonies seemed to point to suspicions about the new "heroes" of the UNSC. Eventually, several colonies began to complain about how the Freelancers were demanding more from them every day even though they never really did anything anymore. When Freelancers were re-assigned, they refused to work without extra pay. It wasn't until they attempted to stage a coup, however, that the UNSC actually did something to combat this…

It turned out that Raven had a record…a big record. Before the war, he was a crime boss on Harvest. When Harvest was glassed, he came back in an attempt to collect his "interests" when Harvest was recaptured and saw the action of the Spartan-IIs. Inspired to have his own army of them, he attempted to "persuade" some of them to join his mob. In the end, the resulting firefight between Raven's forces and the Spartan-IIs led to the death of many of Raven's mob, as well as the death of one noble Spartan in particular; Conan-042. Raven's actions led to his arrest on Reach, though he escaped and took full advantage of the Cole Protocol in an attempt to start anew in his plans. However, they did not expect Earth's database to still have record of him.

Raven was arrested, not 11 months ago, on tries for treason, murder, and the creation of an unstable weapon's division. His crimes earned him life-imprisonment on Reach, which was converted into a high-tech prison while Terraforming attempts on the planet continued. However, we did not expect Raven to still have control of his old mafia…which led to his escape.

Raven began to lead a rebellion in an attempt to gain control over a section of space. With his Freelancers causing havoc all over the place, we were almost powerless to stop him. Thankfully, however, he did not expect us to be capable of fighting back.

After an event where Raven rescued a group of his Freelancers from a high-tech prison called Blackout, and the murder of Captain Gordon Sky of the Knight Hawk Company, esteemed Lieutenant Alexander Sky, Gordon Sky's nephew and adopted son, made a ruthless campaign to stop Raven's forces. With the help of Private Second Class Davis Zamago, a Knight Hawk marine who snuck aboard Raven's starship and planted a tracer on board, Lieutenant Sky's forces cornered Raven's while he was attempting to set up base on an old Covenant glassed planet, Charybdis IX, nicknamed Sandtrap after the desert environment it had adapted after the Terraforming process had begun.

So far, we have few reports coming in on the matter, though I can assume that, even as I type this down, that Sky's forces are doing their best to contain the Freelancer forces. It's a good thing that they have something that we've been working on for the past ten years that's guaranteed to pack a suitable punch and help them in this fight, though in the end it'll all come down to the brave Marines who are fighting. May God be with them…

-Fleet Admiral Harper, 1st class

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_End of Military Log. File Command Key access to file disabled. Thank you for using the UNSC Database. Please tune in at approximately 2400 hours UNSC Standard Time to access the database again. Logging out…_

* * *

_July 2nd__, 2564, 0930_

_Sandtrap Archeological Digsite, Charybdis IX_

The speech that Lieutenant Sky had given was inspirational. There was no doubt about that. Some of the greatest men in the world could move mountains with the power of words; Gandhi, Jesus Christ (though he was more than a man), Abraham Lincoln. All of them proved that words could be just as powerful, maybe even more powerful, than actions…as long as their actions backed them up.

The problem with battle speeches; they are hard to boost morale for those who know what they are about to face.

"Corporal, you're on point. We're taking this structure over here."

Corporal Miles Peters was one of those people. He hadn't seen a lot in the way of combat time, though he made up for it from the horrors he had seen. He was in the service about a year or two ago, having helped mop up rebellion forces. The things the rebels did to those that they were killing was rather disgusting. Whoever thought that they were this serious for their freedom? Even worse still, Miles was around when the Freelancers began to stage their coup on a colony nearby called New Prosperity. He had seen the atrocities the Freelancers caused. He knew what they were capable of…

It didn't matter that he had some armor to protect him this time.

The UNSC had issued new standard-issue and mass-produced Spartan-II Mark IV MJOLNIR armor. The armor was powered down, of course, and made of a lighter material than standard MJOLNIR armor, making it more susceptible to being penetrated by bullets. It also ran on a battery half the size of the standard armor, making its shields weaker. However, it did provide some protection, and it guaranteed that, should a Freelancer try to hit you, they wouldn't be able to grab your chest and crush all the bones in your body with a single grip. Their tit-twister of death, they liked to call it.

Corporal Peters cocked the MA5C Assault Rifle that he held firmly in his hands. Checking his other weapons, such as his Shotgun, which he kept at all times, and his grenades, both within easy access of his right arm, he walked into the structure ahead of him and down the long hallway ahead. He ignored the sand that crunched against his big, metallic boots, focusing all of his attention on the dark, stone hallway.

As he passed the first set of openings on the sides of each of the structure, Corporal Peters took note that the areas could very likely be places for an ambush. While the fight went on outside, the small group of about five soldiers went down the long hallway, examining each and every nook and cranny for any sign of a possible attack.

It was after the second set of entrances that the Corporal stopped. The rest stopped too, knowing full well that a person on point halting would pose a horrible problem to them as a whole. He put his Assault Rifle away and pulled out his shotgun, cocking the weapon and turning the safety off. The others tensed. Corporal Peters had a history of knowing that something was going to happen…usually something bad. Many of the soldiers in their unit managed to have their lives saved by this one man alone, so the rest, including their Sergeant, trusted him.

"What's the problem," the Sergeant whispered in Miles's ear.

"Trouble ahead," he whispered back, "I think there's some of them off to the sides and above us."

"How can you tell?" the Sergeant asked.

Corporal Peters pointed up at the dust falling from the ceiling. Though something like that happening on a stone structure usually meant that something big was hitting it, the tanks hadn't opened fire upon the Freelancer base yet. Also, the dust was falling in a specific pattern, indicating that someone, or some people, that were very heavy were trying to hide on top of the roof.

"Hornet's not making an attack run for a while yet," the Sergeant said, motioning to the radio attached to his back, "Any suggestions, Corporal?"

"Have Gary break out the rockets," Corporal Peters said, "Tell him to shoot at the lip of the hole in the roof up there, the one where the most sand is falling out of. If we're lucky, we might get enough of a glancing blow on them to have them back off and allow us to go through smoothly."

The Sergeant nodded. He turned around, pointed at one of the other soldiers, and gave him the signal to move forward. The soldier, Gary, was carrying an M41 SSR MAV/AW class Rocket Launcher, as well as several cases of SPNKr HEAT Rockets. The Sergeant pointed out the target to the silent Marine, who nodded his head in reply. Picking up the weapon and aiming, he waited for the rest of the group to brace themselves before firing the weapon up at the hole in the roof.

The explosion was profound; flawless. The splash damage that would be caused by the rocket would spread throughout a large radius. The blast alone would kill any marines surrounding the hole, and possibly mortally wound them even with their special armor on.

So it was no surprise that a grunt, followed by a falling body, heralded the death of one of the ambushers.

"Take cover!" the Sergeant shouted as several gunshots started pelting through the small space. The Marines were more than happy to oblige, ducking behind whatever rocks or crates happened to be nearby. The Sergeant flinches as, amongst the fray, a series of blue projectiles suddenly splashed to the ground, enveloping anything nearby with its tremendous heat and turning the sand it touched into glass.

"Damn it!" one of the Marines shouted, "They're using Covenant Weapons! God damned Freelancer mobsters!"

"Can it, Marine!" the Sergeant shouted, "Alejandro! Get me some cover over here!"

A marine in the far back quickly ran forward. Taking out a long metal stick with a sphere and stands attached to different ends, he jumped into the fray and stabbed the stands into the ground. With a big whoosh sound, a green, spherical shield appeared out from within the stand, its edge spreading out by at least a two yard radius. Bullets and plasma pinged harmlessly off of the shield's surface, allowing the Marines to come out of hiding.

Corporal Peters suddenly came up to the front of the group, motioning for them to step back as he stood in the middle of the shielded area. In response, the 2-ton body of a Freelancer suddenly jumped down from above, both hands having a firm grip on a Plasma Pistol each. With a great war cry that sounded like a cornered animal ringing through the open speakers in his visor, the Freelancer dove feet-first towards the seemingly helpless Marine. He passed straight through the shield, his fingers edging on the triggers as he prepared to slam his victim into the sand below.

He didn't notice the shotgun in the Corporal's hands.

One shot, one kill. The Corporal stepped away as the 2 ton body fell flat on the ground alongside the Bubble Shield array. A second Freelancer, having not noticed his partner go down, followed suit, his shields flaring while his body suddenly rippled in his death throes as the pellets met their mark, straight through his helmet visor. Both bodies lay still, their Mark VI MJOLNIR armors beginning to sink perilously in the sand.

"Good job, Corporal," the Sergeant said as the other marines gathered around the relative safety of the Bubble Shield, "You keep this up and you may just replace me as Sergeant!"

The Marine stood silent, his eyes still watching ahead. The battle outside had just begun. Tanks began launching salvo by salvo of powerful, 500 pound slugs at the structure and the surrounding sand, blanketing Freelancers in its shrapnel. The all-too familiar sound of a Wraith launching a mortar into the air soon followed, though an explosion silenced the powerful weapon. Above them, Hornets streaked through the sky as they pelted the surrounding structures with lead bullets, causing several screaming sounds above as Freelancers attempting to ambush the Marines from above, much to their relief.

"Alright, Marines!" the Sergeant shouted, "Don't just stand there gawking just because we weren't the ones to be in the big action. Let's kick ourselves some Freelancer ass!"

The Marines cheered and quickly followed their Sergeant as they made their way to the end of the structure. Upon reaching it, they began raining down bullets and grenades upon the Freelancers below. Though they were careful to stay well out of firing range from the enemy below, the soldiers still looked very much like a frenzied war band from Earth's ancient history.

Corporal Peters hesitated before he joined them in the fight. He looked down at the two Freelancers he had killed. One had a huge gash in his armor where the shotgun round went right through, while the other had a hole in his visor, his face covered up blood and flayed skin. The third, the one that got killed first, had holes in the lower sections of his armor, though he probably died a lot better than the other two did.

_With every action, there are consequences_, Peters said to himself. _These men chose to betray their people. I delivered the consequences of their actions to them._

"Peters! Get over here! Don't go blanking out on us!"

Corporal Peters looked up at the voice of his fellow Marine. The group of them were hiding under cover as Plasma pelted the sides of the stone, flaying tiny pieces of it off like sheaves of paper. The Corporal sighed, and quickly ran up to the others.

_My consequences are knowing others died by my hands_, the Corporal finished. _I'll carry that knowledge for the rest of my life. It's the only consequence I have, though probably the worst of any of them. I might as well get this fight over with._

Corporal Peters grabbed a BR from one of the Marines. Disregarding his own safety, he began pelting the bullets of the weapon at the heads of the Freelancers below, counting off the kills he made and adding them to a long list of those who entered the world beyond through his hands.

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Private Joseph Daniels always wanted to fly. Ever since he was a kid tending to his dad's old crop-duster on New Prosperity, he had longed to be in the air. He signed up for the military to do just that; train to be a pilot. However, he didn't expect that he had to take officer training before he could be accepted into the UNSCDF…

This led him to being stuck with the job as assistant gunner on board of a Hornet.

Sure, he was in the air. Sure, it was in his job description that he wanted to be up in the sky. However, he did not expect to be riding in one of the slowest aerial vehicles the UNSC had to offer. Save for the Vulture, the Hornet was the slowest air vehicle in the UNSC's arsenal…and he wasn't even driving it! He was stuck on the sidelines, hanging onto the side by a harness and reduced to shooting rockets and machine guns at the enemy.

Not that he didn't like using heavy weapons...

On the ground, Private Daniels considered himself useless. There was only one exception to that rule; demolitions and big guns. He can blast open a door or destroy a vehicle faster than a vehicle sergeant can shift gears and parallel park a Warthog. He was also really good as far as machine-guns were considered; calling them the men destroyers, seeing as they could easily chop up a human into bits with as much fluency as any rocket could. Combine that with his wisecracking nature, and you've got yourself the closest thing you could get to a psycho maniac without bending too far into the actual category.

Speaking of which; there was a Banshee heading straight for their Hornet right now.

The Hornet moved to the side as the Banshee began firing. No doubt a Freelancer was inside, seeing as the damn rebels had managed to hijack a bunch of Covenant weapons from a ruined Phantom nearby. The weapons were contraband items, of course, seeing as humans didn't really know much about Covenant technology anyway. That didn't stop the Freelancers from being bastards and taking whatever advantage they could get their hands on.

Private Daniels both cursed and thanked the Lord that his harness was on. He had jumped aside as the Banshee started strafing towards the right of the Hornet, the same area where he happened to be sitting at. Hanging by the harness like a marionette, he took aim at the thing as best as he could and began to open fire, his hands still on the Hornet's side-gun as he did his best to take out the Banshee. He managed to cause its right wing to crack at the chassis, causing its boost to screw up, though that was the extent of the damage on the Covenant vehicle as it flew away.

Pulling himself into a sitting position on the Hornet's side rack, he gave the pilot the thumbs-up to show that he was okay, and began tracking the thing with the end of his machine gun. Pulling the trigger hard, he rooted his feet to the spot and had the machine gun follow the Banshee. Acting smart, he aimed just a little ahead of the Banshee, getting it in the nose as he continued his rate of fire.

The Banshee's front was pretty trashed once the second Hornet took over. Launching a pair of missiles, the Hornet moved in like a hawk for the kill. The missiles slammed into the Banshee's chassis, causing the thing to fall straight out of the sky, pilot and all, in several pieces and fragments.

The Hornet looked as if it was about to move away to continue strafing, but a Fuel-Rod projectile striking it dead-on stopped it in its tracks. The gunner on one side fell off, while the second gunner, in full range of the projectile, was turned into a pulp before his body ignited and fell to the ground below. The Hornet, smoking, began to teeter towards the ground, the driver loosing control of the forward engine as he attempted to get away from the Banshee.

Private Daniels acted quickly. Taking out his Rocket Launcher, he took aim, but cursed aloud as the Banshee suddenly came behind his Hornet's wing. Acting as swift as possible, Daniels slipped from his sitting position and hung by his harness, taking aim at the Banshee. Knowing it was too far ahead to actually get shot, and it would probably move aside if he tried to shoot it, Daniels did the one thing he could do; took aim at the second Hornet.

Knowing very well what was going to happen, he opened fire, just as the second Banshee began strafing in for the kill. The Hornet ducked away from the rocket, the Banshee suddenly coming into view as its nose filled in the gap replaced by the injured Hornet…

…the spot where the Rocket was aimed.

The Banshee went down in a blaze of glory, its chassis torn apart at the seams as it fell below. Several Freelancers who were beneath it managed to get the full destructive fury of the crippled Banshee as its plasma guns exploded, raining the desert in a field of blue light and bathing their shields in its heat, causing them to flare and die. A very large crater of glass remained of the sand where the Banshee, fell, signaling the defeat of the air support for the Freelancers.

Private Daniels looked over at the crippled Hornet. The pilot watched as he gave him the thumbs up, signaling that everything was fine. The Hornet pilot nodded, taking his crippled machine over to their base as best as he could. Daniels pulled himself back up to his spot on the Hornet, tapping the cockpit and signaling the pilot to continue flying. He put his Rocket Launcher away and grabbed the Machine Gun, taking aim for the ground below as the Hornet went for a strafing run.

Well, at least this job isn't boring, Daniels thought.

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**Kerian**: *rubs head* Well, I left with a bang last time, though I hope we didn't scare you. I'm fine now...being knocked unconscious by a Spartan-III is not a pretty picture.

Darin: What did happen to Survivor?

**Kerian**: I put his Mark VI suit on lockdown. Just feel lucky I don't have any specific means of sealing you up in an armored suit for who knows how long.

Darin: Point taken. You going to wrap this up?

**Kerian**: In a moment. Readers, the scenes you just witnessed were based off of the very first episode in my script. According to the story, the Freelancers managed to get their hands on contraband Covenant equipment. While the Freelancers have technology on their side, not only to Marines have numbers, but they have new armor as well. Powered-down Mark VI armor made of lighter material than the originals enable Marines to walk on the battlefield with almost all of the protection a Spartan-II has to offer. However, while Marines can use these suits, they are more vulnerable to attacks. If you were to compare them in-game, they would have at least 25% less damage resistance and also have half shields. However, the good news is that I am able to use them in a Machinima and explain why the Marines are wearing all of that armor!

Darin: I'll never understand technology.

**Kerian**: No...no you won't. Alright, that concludes this story. Until later, me out!

_Survivor_: Don't think you got rid of me that easy!

**Kerian**: Stay in your suit, Survivor...I haven't even introduced you yet...technically...so you shouldn't even be here spoiling everything.

_Survivor_: Point taken...pulling up the signature...

-Kerian


	4. Prologue 3

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**Halo 3: Dark Rising**

_The Short Stories_

Prologue, Short Story 3: On My Honor

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_UNSC Command Database online. Warning: You are accessing restricted file space! Please insert correct file key or correct security measures will be enacted._

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_Inserting File Command Key SI-191_

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_Command key accepted. Accessing requested file. Wait one moment please…_

_United Nations Space Command military log, section 38, subsection 01, date classified._

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It is quite amusing to see an Elite attempt to type at a human keyboard. Although I did my best not to laugh out of fear I might cause a diplomatic incident, I'll have to admit, the Arbiter's frustration with our letters was quite comical. In the end, I agreed to type this in on his behalf, seeing as, technically, it would be physically impossible to type with only four digits, two of which being thumbs.

The Arbiter had arrived all the way from Sangheili space to give us a chance at this report. It is quite an honor, really. The Arbiter did so much for us during his time aiding the Master Chief with the Covenant Separatists. In a sense, he is just as much of a war hero to us as he is to his people. With him as the current leader of their forces, he cannot stay long. However, he did stay long enough for us to get an insight about his time with the Covenant and of certain Sangheili matters.

The early history of the Covenant for the Elites began when the Prophets found their homeworld. Originally, the Elites had formed a sort of religion involving Forerunner Artifacts; though they tended to leave them in peace instead of use them for the conquering of other races. When the Prophet race showed up, the Elites stood fast and fought back against them, but the Keyship under the control of the Prophets destroyed much of their forces. In the end, the Elites and the Prophets formed an agreement that eventually was called the Covenant, and became the basis of their religious organization. The Elites would remain by the side of the Prophets, acting as their bodyguards and soldiers, and would remain loyal to their cause. The Prophets stripped the weapons from the Forerunner Keyship so that it could never again be used for such warfare. In the end, it resulted in the Elites becoming the backbone of the Covenant military…something that we humans, later, would learn to hate as much as we appreciate it now.

Not much can be said up until that point. The Covenant conquered different races, usually using the Elites as the main conquerors, and they all sided under one common religious goal. After discovering Harvest, not long after the "taming of the Hunters," the Covenant began to wage war upon the human race, starting with Harvest and continuing from there. However, a lot of this is old news; we already have a number of articles involving those stories, though I paid close attention during our interview and remained polite. It wasn't until the Arbiter came up to a more pressing point that my real attention was captured.

The Covenant Fleet seen during the battle of Delta Halo was only two-thirds of the actual Covenant arsenal. The real big stuff, the "Elites of the Elites," as the Arbiter called them, had been sent out not long after the First Battle of Harvest to continue searching for Forerunner artifacts while the main group focused upon eradicating the human race. According to the Arbiter, that fleet hadn't returned since, though scout ships arriving to and from High Charity reported that most of the members of that group had been busy uncovering extremely potent artifacts of a very ancient origin. Whether they were Forerunner or not was unknown at the time, though everything was kept relatively secret to all but a select few. Amongst those few was a certain Rtas 'Vadum, the Shipmaster of the Shadow of Intent, and the admiral of the Separatist fleet.

This in particular interested me. Why wouldn't the Covenant Fleet attack as a single whole rather than using only two thirds of its power to wipe out the humans? It would have had the potential of causing much more destruction. Though I'd admit that the thought of them not at their full strength was scary enough as it was, the idea of there being at least a third of an army of Covenant Loyalists out there in the galaxy is enough for me to get goose bumps. It means that we have a whole lot of enemies still out there; though why they haven't shown themselves when we are at our weakest is something I can't understand.

The Arbiter mentioned that I should not have to worry. It is likely that, should the Covenant Loyalists find out what happened, they would split up to their respective homeworlds and form anew with their cultures. I doubted that something like that could be possible; the Arbiter wasn't around when we mopped up the Loyalists while he was travelling amongst the recesses of space aboard the ruined hull of the Forward Unto Dawn. However, I will trust his judgment. He seems confident that these Loyalists won't pose a problem in the future.

Why do I still have a bad feeling about it?

-Fleet Admiral Harper, 1st class

_End of Military Log. File Command Key access to file disabled. Thank you for using the UNSC Database. Please tune in at approximately 2400 hours UNSC Standard Time to access the database again. Logging out…_

* * *

_Month unknown, year 2553_

_Outskirts of Milky Way Galaxy, Slipspace_

The galaxy was large enough that most of it could surpass as an endless void. The stars, though close by enough to be forever pulled into the center of gravity by a massive super black hole in the center of the Milky Way, were far enough apart that it would take hundreds of years for even the fastest ships in the galaxy to travel to without the use of faster-than-light technology. It was what led the first race, the Forerunners, to design the means of using Slipspace, a parallel dimension that enables those within it to travel between space and time. With this knowledge, the galaxy was eventually explored by the great Forerunners, who left behind their technologies for other races to follow them.

Amongst those races were the races that made up the Covenant.

While real space was blank and an absolute void, Slipspace was the opposite. Inside it, at that very moment, an armada of sleek, purple and blue starships began making their way to some unknown destination, their features appearing similar to the whales and sharks of Earth. Any one of those ships would have once sparked fear into the minds of the Human race, though peace for the past few years has led man to somewhat forget the menace of the Covenant.

It was too bad for them that the Covenant were more of a reality now than ever before.

Inside of a great Carrier, the _Justice of Temptation_, were possibly thousands, if not millions, of Covenant Loyalists. They had been gone from known Covenant space for the past decade, and were more than happy to be returning home. Inside, hundreds of Grunts, Hunters, Jackals, and even Elites were more than ready to return to the mighty High Charity space station, and more than eager to continue their great crusade under the might of the Covenant.

Inside, a pair of Elites stared each other down. They stood in a circular sparring ring, each wielding different weapons, and each staring hard into each other's eyes. Neither wore anything save for traditional sparring ceremonial armor, which left their faces and other body parts bare, susceptible to damage from any attack.

Artras 'Vadaree was the elder of the two. His armor was in the color of a dark tinge of blue, a pair of swords strapped to his ceremonial belt while a Plasma Rifle was strapped to his back. His fingers twitched in anticipation. His experience in sparring knew that his opponent would soon attack, and when he did there would be no stopping him.

Baros 'Jarumee wielded a sword as well, but a brute Gravity Hammer was also strapped to his back. Not exactly a choice Elite weapon, though Baros secretly admired Brute ceremonial weaponry. Although it was savage, the technology combined with its spiritual and hierarchal status gave it a kind of aura that made it seem like an honorable weapon. He was the younger of the two sparrers, wearing yellow-green ceremonial armor similar to Artras'. Though he had less experience, he had more confidence in himself and had a greater desire to win over his opponent.

It took only a moment longer before both fighters attacked. Baros brought out his Gravity Hammer and spun it like a baton, while Artras drew his two swords simultaneously, leaping in the air to strike down his younger adversary.

The hammer's hilt was the thing that saved Baros from losing the battle. The two swords struck the metallic weapon hard, though Baros held it steady to keep it from getting loose. With a quick push, Baros tossed Artras aside, pounding the ground hard with his hammer as he did.

The desired effect had been made. Artras was knocked flying, the combined force of Baros' superior strength combined with the shockwave of the Gravity Hammer knocked him easily against the wall of the chamber. One of his swords was knocked away, out of reach. He growled before quickly putting his sword away and drawing his Plasma Rifle, launching a salvo of the stuff at Baros from a distance.

Baros leapt aside, hiding behind a pillar in the room for cover. Thinking quickly, he put the Gravity Hammer away on his back and began clawing his way up the pillar, getting himself as far away from the plasma bolts as he could. Artras had no idea where Baros was, or where he was going, instead continuing to pelt the side of the pillar with plasma as he believed that Baros was still hiding there.

Artras kept his Plasma Rifle pointed at the pillar. As he did, he made his way over to his second sword, picking it up and placing it on his belt. Cursing himself for not having a better battery for the weapon in his hand, he put the Plasma Rifle away and drew both swords, intent on getting the drop on his opponent.

Artras was shocked to find that Baros was no longer behind the pillar. He looked around, attempting to find the younger Elite, though he could not see him anywhere. He almost thought that Baros had given up and had taken the coward's way out, though he knew that it was against the younger Elite's nature to give up on anything.

A snap-hiss above his head drew his attention.

Artras looked up, only to be pinned down as Baros' feet struck his shoulders. It was only his quick actions that brought his free sword arm up to save himself from Baros' attack, who had brought his sword down within striking range of Artras' face. The two of them stared each other down, both relying on all of their strength in an attempt to get a successful attack.

Finally, Artras sighed, moving his head to one side in defeat. Baros cocked his head in confusion. Was this what he thought it meant?

"I yield," the older Elite said, "You are the victor, Baros."

Baros' lower jaws slacked open in amazement, and then he smiled in awe. He had won. He was the sparring victor. He had beaten his opponent, fair and square. He did it!

Baros eased his sword away, stepping aside and allowing the older Elite to stand. Outside, cheers erupted from the stands surrounding the ring as Artras bowed on one knee to the younger Elite, showing all who was the victor in this match. Baros couldn't help but raise his sword in victory. It felt good to win. Sure, it wasn't a good idea to boost one's ego, but it was still a great feeling, knowing you fought your opponent in an honorable match and won in the end.

An elderly Elite stepped down from a series of stairs that formed once the match was declared over. He walked forward, a staff in his hand to keep him balanced, examining the two younger Elites. They both bowed low for the mighty Elite, who wore the armor and garbs of a high councilman. He gave a satisfactory sigh as he looked over the two of them, and then came up to the victor.

"Baros 'Jarumee," the old Elite said, "You have won the match over your sibling. It is a great honor to have defeated one such as him, even if it was hard for you. You have succeeded in earning yourself the rank of Zealot. I am proud of you, young one."

"May the Forerunners smile upon you always, Admiral," Baros said with a smile.

The old Elite looked over at Artras and shook his head sadly.

"Ah, Artras 'Vadaree," he said, "I must say that I am disappointed. You would have made a fine Zealot. Although Baros will possibly succeed as well, you have traits that no Elite his age has…experience. You are wise, though in the end you failed. Know though, for your efforts, I am promoting you to the rank of Ultra for your deeds. You can…guide your sibling in future matters."

"I have done my best, Admiral," Artras bowed his head.

The Admiral smiled at the two Elites. He put his staff on a slot on his back, and then put both hands on the Elites' shoulders. "You both have made me proud this day," he said, "Now, I have two fine officers in my command; perhaps two of the best, given your relations. Both of you have made me proud to consider myself your commander. You are dismissed. May the Forerunners smile upon you always…"

The two Elites pounded their fists to their chests in salute. The Admiral nodded to them both. Taking them to the winner's circle, he took Baros' right hand and held it high in the air. The Grunts, Elites, and other races of the Covenant that had witnessed the battle cheered for Baros. The Elites began chanting Baros' name, letting it ring throughout the ship's halls.

"Baros! 'Jarumee! Baros! 'Jarumee! Baros! 'Jarumee!"

Baros smiled. He had never felt so good in his life. He looked over at his cousin, Artras. The Elite smiled back and bowed, his fist to his chest in salute.

Baros vowed that he would make it up to his nestmate somehow. He owed him, the closest thing he had to a brother, that much. A promotion, maybe. Perhaps even a special service in the ranks. It didn't matter. Now that Baros was a Zealot, he was able to do the impossible in the name of the Covenant. He would lead troops into battle, go head-on in the frays of war. He was sure that promoting skills when they were recognized was in the job description.

Either way…Baros was going to make it up to him.

* * *

The carrier, _Justice of Temptation_, was in an uproar the following week. The great Admiral, one of the five in the fleet, had died during the night. There was a mix-up as to who was going to be his heir/replacement. The old Elite was a sentimental war hero, but even he knew that there was a fine line when it came to selecting a successor. It was just that no one knew who that successor was.

Baros and Artras both stood to attention as the highest ranking Elites gathered together in the central chamber of the tremendous ship; the same hall where they both had their duel, though converted into a grand audience chamber for the very real purpose of selecting a successor for the admiral. The other four admirals had already gathered about, reading a manuscript they had just found in the General's Quarters earlier that day.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Baros asked his cousin as they stood to attention.

"I am unsure," Artras replied, "I am more curious about the source of the Admiral's death. Do you suspect foul play?"

"What kind of talk is that?!"

The two glanced down at a Grunt Deacon, his hands holding a manuscript disc, who was standing next to the two of them.

"What reason would any of us have of killing our mighty Admiral?!" the Grunt said, "Thinking such thoughts is as close to blaspheming as it can come! The Admiral was a great keeper of the word, he would have no reason to be eliminated by his fellow comrades!"

"It is a possibility," Artras said, "Not everyone is as keeping to the word of the Forerunners as you are, deacon."

The Grunt scoffed, but didn't speak further, instead turning his attention to the four Admirals, who looked prepared to speak.

"Warriors of the Covenant," the highest ranking Admiral spoke aloud, "The time has come for us to select a successor to the deceased admiral, Krejii Xar 'Kaginree. According to a manuscript disc, which contains his will, we had found a successor for our Admiral!"

There were some cheers, though they were followed by silence as the great Admiral raised his hands in the air.

"It is a strange decision for his choice," the great Admiral said, "The successor is a warrior of great strength and skill. He is an honorable, and admirable soldier, and he is a proud believer and upholder of the Covenant. However…he is not of the Sangheili race."

There was some shock and murmured discussions amongst the ranks. The troops had never been lead by anyone but Elites. There was no other race that was better at war than the Elites. Who was going to lead them if not a Sangheili?

"For those of you who are curious, this individual is of no kinship to any of you save through the Covenant," the Admiral said, "He is not a San 'Shyuum, nor is he Jiralhanae, and he is not Mgalekgolo. He is not even an Unggoy, for he is none of you. He is a unique individual, described by the former Admiral to be a warrior who comes from an inferior race, but has proven himself worthy from their lowliness. Though the Prophets would look down upon us on this choice, he is, according to the will, a worthy selection of a replacement. Without further ado, I ask that…Annihilation, please come forward."

Everyone gasped as a gate in the wall of the chamber opened. With clanking boots, a figure, hooded and cloaked, his body covered by a powerful exoskeleton, came up to the Admirals. He stepped up to them, bowing down on one knee, his head low in submission to the four leaders of the fleet.

"Arise, Annihilation," the high Admiral said, "Claim your title…"

The figure stood up. Taking the manuscript from the Admiral's hands, he walked up to the platform where the Admiral was first speaking. Raising the will above his head, he shouted out in a voice for all to hear.

"I claim the title of Admiral!" he shouted, "On my honor, I will fulfill my duties, and keep to the Writ of Union! I…am…Annihilation!!!"

Beneath the hood, a visor gleamed golden light as the Admiral gazed into the crowd above, his hands still holding the will. The soldiers silently applauded the rising of the new Admiral, though Baros did not know what to think of it. He knew better than to not applaud, but how could having someone like…him command an army of the Covenant?

He noticed that the Grunt Deacon beside him had fainted.

* * *

The _Justice of Temptation_ began to slow in Slipspace, the other vessels behind it doing likewise as their lead ship prepared an exit vector outside into realspace. Several Elite technicians prepared the vessel for the jump, typing upon the symbols on the keyboard with lightning speed.

"Preparing an exit vector," one Elite said, "Coordinates received from High Charity acknowledged. Activating warp drives."

"I cannot wait," one Elite said to a Grunt sitting beside him, "We are finally returning home. I can't wait to see the look on my mate's face…perhaps I can witness my offspring for the first time."

"I wish to return to the core of the station," the Grunt said, "Need to feel the big heat again. Big ship has big heat, but not as big of heat as High Charity."

A Jackal beside the two of them scoffed, turning his beak-like nose away from his station to glance a look at the two technicians.

"What does it matter?" the Jackal said in his bird-like voice, "We'll be leaving anyway. No point getting comfortable."

The Elite and Grunt both glanced menacingly at the Jackal before returning to their respective stations.

"All ships, prepare for jump," the Fleetmaster, a Zealot with shining gold armor, said aloud as he sat upon his shipmaster throne, "Exit vector engage. Prepare to exit to realspace."

"Realspace opened," a technician voiced, "Brace yourselves."

A flash of light lit up the viewscreens of the great Carrier as it exited Slipspace. The screens fazed out for a short while as the fleet began to exit Slipspace at the same time, creating a tremendous hole in Realspace that lit up the black void. The Fleetmaster and the other Elites all gaped as the viewscreens began to materialize the image in front of them, revealing the horrifying sight ahead of them.

"I don't believe it," an Elite said, his hands shaking in his chair as he stared at the viewscreen ahead of them.

"Big explosion, cause big heat," the Grunt said as he gazed at the wreckage, "Too bad not on board."

"Told you not to get comfortable," the Jackal said, though it was obvious that he was also scared.

All eyes of the entire fleet stared in disbelief and sadness as the distorted, flame-wrecked mass that was once a piece of High Charity flew on the outskirts of the galaxy, the only sign of its former fate being in the form of tremendous chunks of dead, brownish green organic matter, which looked as dead as the space station piece it was attached to. Not one of the Covenant Loyalists could believe their eyes as they gazed at the wreckage.

Only one word escaped the lips of the Fleetmaster, who was shuddering in his rage. He slammed his hand on the arm of the throne, gazing at the destroyed wreckage of High Charity in a furious rage.

"Demons," he growled.

* * *

**Kerian**: Covenant Loyalists? Who would have guessed? I wonder what they are going to do next...hmm...

_Survivor_: I don't like where you are going with this, Kerian...

**Kerian**: Get over it. You're a Spartan. You're supposed to like this kind of stuff.

_Survivor_: We're all humans. We have feelings too.

**Kerian**: Whatever...anyway, now you know the origins of the main antagonists, the Covenant Loyalists. You also just saw the leader of the main group of antagonists, specifically the Warlord (then, Admiral) of Annihilation. I have yet to reveal exactly what he is to anyone, so sit tight and you'll hopefully find out in the future.

Well, that concludes this batch of Short Stories. Until next time, me, out!

_Survivor_: What'd you do with Darin?

**Kerian**: Froze him in a block of ice. More to find out in the next chapter of Legacy of the Sages...though that's a different story entirely.

-Kerian


End file.
